Deadly Encounters by Wycherley Jeannie

Author:Wycherley, Jeannie
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bark at the Moon Books
Published: 2017-07-22T04:00:00+00:00

***

Several weeks later I was wandering around Bigelow’s hypermarket when I happened upon my next victim. He was probably a nice guy, but he was a manager, and he was far too young. He was making managerial decisions, ordering employees about who probably had more years’ experience than he’d had Christmas dinners. And he still had pimples.

He annoyed me on sight.

For the next few weeks I hung around watching the employees’ entrance at Bigelow’s. This was a greater challenge than the burger restaurant because there were more employees coming and going, and more security. I found out which was the kid’s car however, a modest three-year-old Ford, nothing flashy, and was pleased by his tendency to park at the rear of the employees’ car park near some scrubland with large thorny bushes.

I equipped myself with a new, thick, black coat and hood and made the necessary adjustments to the right hand pocket so that I could get my knife, freshly sharpened, in and out without it snagging on anything. I lined the left-hand pocket with plastic so that I could keep the fries in there without them staining the outside of the coat with grease, or making it smell. I’d bought new boots; cheap, Chinese manufactured, on sale everywhere and two sizes too big. I tied my hair back and hid it under a black net. I had my new weapon. I was ready.

Every night as soon as it was dark, I made my way on foot to the scrubland at the back of Bigelow’s and hid among the thorny bushes. I waited for the kid to come out. I had to abandon what I was doing for a few nights in a row, twice when he gave a colleague a ride home and once when the moon was so bright that I couldn’t hide effectively.

He’s a nice guy.

Generous.

We can’t worry about that.

At last, the conditions were right.

He was alone and walked towards his car. When he was close enough, I called out to him.

“Sir? Oh sir? Could you help me please?”

He turned. Cocked his head. Looked towards where I was hiding in the bushes.

“Sir? Could you help? I’m hurt bad.”

At that he came towards me.

“Ma’am? Where are you? Shall I call the police?”

“Could you help me first?” Ah the duplicitous joy of being a damsel in distress.

“I’m coming. Where—”

I swung a black bag containing a standard house brick at his head. It connected with a dull crump; the sound of an egg having its top caved in. The kid fell like a stone. Maybe he was dead then. I don’t know. I wasn’t about to give him mouth to mouth. I dragged him by the arms, pulled him back under cover of the bushes. I took my knife and stabbed him hard, approximately where I considered his heart to be. Blood bubbled out of his chest but there wasn’t much of it.

I was pleased.

I sprinkled my fries over him, collected my belongings and slipped away under cover of the night.

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